


Oceans and waves and wires between us

by becka



Category: Catfish: The TV Show, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cissexism, Crossdressing, False Identity, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Online Friendship, Online Relationship, Sexuality Crisis, Skype
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall wants to meet his online girlfriend, Veronica, and enlists the help of MTV's Catfish to do it. He doesn't get quite what he bargained for, but it works out alright, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oceans and waves and wires between us

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Lucy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully) for reading this a bunch of times and telling me it wasn't terrible. <33

_Dear Nev,  
My name’s Niall and I’m from a little town called Mullingar, in Ireland. I don’t know if you’ve ever thought of taking your show international, but if you have, I’ve got a story for you._

_I’ve been talking with this girl called Veronica for about a year now, but we’ve never met in person. We’ve never even talked on the phone. I’m pretty serious about her, and I think she is about me, but she lives in England and I’m not sure we’ll ever meet. Can you help me?_

_Cheers!_

Niall sends the email, Darragh egging him on over his shoulder. “Happy now, mate?” he asks. “Now that I’ve made an arse of meself to some American TV producer?”

Darragh laughs and slaps him on the back. “All for the cause of true love, mate. Come on and buy me a pint.”

Niall rolls his eyes and grabs the jacket Darragh chucks at him. They get pissed down the pub and then booted out before closing for Niall’s singing on the pool table. It’s not even the first time, and he’s not sure why no one in town appreciates his voice; he was nearly on X Factor once. In the morning he’s forgotten all about the email, and he only thinks of it when he gets V’s first message of the day over his hangover breakfast, grinning around a mouthful of sausage. They play Draw Something all the time, and V makes each of her turns into a production. This time there’s a seagull pooing on the head of a man who looks like Niall, his hair buttery yellow because V’s willing to pay for colors and special lines. She’s an art student, so she says it’s good practice. He sends back a picture of a stick figure being hit with a tennis racket, with a label that says, “you”. It’s so easy, having her in his life, even though she’s in a whole different country.

 

The email back a week later is shocking, and he thinks it’s a joke right up until someone from MTV phones him and talks him through loads of official forms. He’s only seen bits and pieces of the show on YouTube, since it doesn’t air in Ireland, and he can’t quite believe they’re asking him to be on TV, that they’re going to find Veronica for him and hook them up properly. But he signs all the papers he has to and gives verbal consent to a few more things, and then they’re on their way. He skypes with Nev and Max, very conscious that every thing he says may be on TV in the future.

“So, Niall,” says Nev, “how did you and Veronica start talking in the first place?”

Niall grins into his webcam, remembering. “Facebook. We both talked about the X Factor a lot on their page, and then we started talking on our own as well. And then like, emailing and tweeting and everything. It just kind of, you know, snowballed from there.” He knows he’s going to have to share how much, show them all the messages where he poured his heart out, and all the ones where V said exactly what she’d do if they ever hooked up in person. But he doesn’t want to do that quite yet. He likes her so much, feels funnier and more clever and all-round better when he talks to her, and it’s hard to keep that from showing all over his face.

“But you’ve never talked on the phone or video chatted or anything? After a year?” Nev sounds incredulous, and Niall has to defend himself.

“She hasn’t got a webcam, and mobile service is weird between England and Ireland. They’re right next to each other, but the mobile networks never worked that out, I reckon. I’ve seen pictures though.”

“On her facebook?”

“Yeah, mostly. And a few she’s sent me.”

“Anything racy?”

“Nah, mate. Just like, selfies and stuff.” He barely knows what her body looks like, although he feels like he’s got every line of her face memorized. “Have to say, she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Then we’ll need to track her down for you. We’ll talk to you soon, man.”

 

Niall doesn’t hear anything more until they arrive in Mullingar a week later, and it’s hard not to talk to V about it in the meantime. He’s been telling her everything going on in his life for fucking months, and he’d never want her to think he doubts her. He doesn’t even doubt her, really. But the more he thinks about it now, he can’t help but wonder if he has reason to. He doesn’t know her address, he’s never heard her voice. He doesn’t have any proof except his feelings that it’s not exactly the kind of scam the _Catfish_ guys are out to uncover.

He does his hair up and wears a polo shirt for the day Nev and Max and their cameraman arrive. He’s glad his dad is at work.

Niall holds his breath while they tell him what they’ve found. “The first thing we did was just to google her name, and basically, the bad news is, there’s no Veronica Kilam in Bradford, or anywhere else in the UK. And as far as we can tell online, there are no Veronicas at all at the school she told you she goes to. So there’s a chance that’s not her name. But she didn’t steal some other girl’s myspace pictures for her profile, and we did find someone from her facebook who says he’s met her in person. His name’s Harry, and he gave us her phone number. So that’s huge.”

Niall’s heartbeat kicks up. “Did you call her?” he asks. “Did you speak to her?”

“Not yet,” says Nev. “We wanted to talk to you a little bit first. Niall, man, you have to understand, we do this a lot. We’ve seen a lot of people get exactly what they wanted, and a lot of people get screwed over. We just want you to be prepared, in case she’s not what you expect.”

“Right, yeah. I get it.” He glances at the camera, very aware that whatever he says right now is going to go out to all of America. “I think, you know, I believe she’s genuine. But if she’s not exactly how she said, that’d be all right too.”

The number they got off her friend rings a few times before it’s picked up, and Niall thinks his heart might actually bounce out of his chest. The voice on the other end is male though, a soft hello that makes Niall frown. He wants this to work. He wants Veronica to be on the other end of this call. “Hi, I’m trying to reach Veronica,” says Nev, and Niall can feel the camera trained on his face as he tries not to react too much.

“Sure, mate,” says the guy. “Hang on.” They can all hear him yelling, “V! Phone!” and then rustling and whispering Niall can’t make out.

“Hello?” says a girl’s voice.

“Hey, Veronica. This is Nev. I make a show on MTV in America called _Catfish_ , and we’ve been talking to your friend Niall, and he’d really like to meet you.”

“Wow,” says the girl, who must be Veronica, but she barely sounds excited. “Are you here now? Like, to meet me or whatever?”

“Not now,” says Nev. “But what about tomorrow? We can come by then.”

V sounds so calm, so unfazed that she and Niall are going to meet after a fucking year of talking on the computer, and Niall knows then. He knows it’s not all going to work out.

 

Most of the excitement in his stomach has been replaced by dread, and he’s just trying to keep it off his face for the cameras as they accompany him to the airport to fly to Leeds. He doesn’t know what to expect, but he’s got nothing but time to think about it now, and he’s starting to question practically every moment of the last year. They don’t actually try to film much on the plane, but as soon as they’re in a car on the way to Bradford, the interview starts up again. Niall twists his hands together in his lap and forces himself to stay positive. “I don’t think I could’ve talked to her for this long if she wasn’t a great girl,” says Niall solemnly. “I don’t care much if she doesn’t look like the pictures or if she uses a different name online. But if she’s lied to me about other stuff, I’m not so sure.”

Niall doesn’t really understand why someone would lie about something as mundane as art classes or little sisters nicking gum out of your bag, so he asks finally, watches what’s probably pity dawn in Nev’s eyes. He’s been through this after all. “Some people don’t like the people they’re lying to very much, and it’s a revenge thing. Some of them don’t like themselves very much, and it’s an escape. Some of them seem to just like screwing with people. You never really know until you get there. And who knows, man? Maybe she’s not lying except for the name, and that’s just because somebody told her to never put her real name on the internet.”

Niall’s never been to Bradford, or any other part of Yorkshire, honestly, but he can’t concentrate on looking around when he’s all twisted up with nerves and there’s still a camera in Max’s lap. The satnav guides them into a neighbourhood a lot like plenty of others, and Niall’s fidgeting a bit, knowing they’re almost there. He can’t help but imagine the moment the door opens at V’s house, the moment he’ll see her for the first time. As pessimistic as he’s feeling, he still wants it to be good.

When they pull up outside a little house in a row of little houses, Niall takes a deep breath and steps out of the car. “Are you ready for this, man?” Nev asks him. “We’re about to find out exactly who Veronica really is.”

“Not ready at all, mate,” says Niall with a nervous grin. “But there’s only one thing we can do now. Gotta keep going now we’ve come all this way, yeah?”

“Definitely,” says Nev. They pause to arrange the cameras around him for the walk to the door, and Niall’s both disappointed and relieved that he doesn’t have to lead the way. Nev is the one who knocks on the door, and Niall can’t properly see who’s answered, but he can hear it’s not a girl. Niall cranes around a bit, trying to get a look without looking as though he’s trying. He steps up behind Nev finally, the cameras crowding in as he stares at a boy with V’s dark eyes and long lashes and high cheekbones.

The boy gives him a nervous smile, says, “Hey, Niall,” as though they’re friends.

“Hey.” Niall wracks his brain trying to remember anything V had said about male relatives. She had cousins, right? “Is Veronica here?” Niall asks.

Nev frowns. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think we may be looking at her.”

“Yeah,” says the boy softly. “Yeah, I reckon you should come in.”

Niall’s not stupid, but he doesn’t really want to believe what the facts seem to be laying out now. He and the camera guys follow Nev and the boy into the house, and there’s a little dance of staging to get them set up in the lounge. The boy is looking at Niall intently, and Niall doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say or any of it.

“Your name’s not Veronica, is it?” Niall asks, and the boy very nearly smiles.

“I’m Zayn. Veronica was just a random name I picked out.”

“And who was on the phone when we called earlier?” asks Nev.

“My sister Waliyha. She didn’t want to do it, but I gave her five quid.”

“Even though you knew we were coming here to meet you? Even though you knew we’d find out?”

“I thought you might not come once you knew. And I wanted to meet you. I wanted to, like, have a chance to explain. I like you a lot, Niall.”

“You’ve been lying to me for a year though. So you can’t like me that much, can you?”

Zayn shakes his head. “I’m really sorry, mate. I’m, like, you can’t know how sorry I am.”

“Do you do this a lot?” Nev asks. “Do you talk to other people as Veronica?”

“Not like I do with Niall.” He meets Niall’s eyes, almost defiant. “I only made that profile so I could talk about stupid telly programmes without my mates taking the piss. I didn’t even try to make friends on it at first. But then there was Niall.”

“Was that you in the pictures?” Niall asks.

“Yeah. My sisters made me up, just as a laugh, but I thought it was good enough to, like, pretend.”

“You were gorgeous,” Niall tells him honestly. “I never would have suspected. I assumed you were real.” He feels hurt and betrayed, and a big part of him wants to be angry. Because he thought he had a girlfriend, and Zayn’s definitely not that. But he’s spent most of a year talking to this boy about most everything, and it’s hard to look at his sad, resigned face and feel mad.

“I’m sorry,” says Zayn again. “Dunno why you’d believe me, but the rest was true. All the rest about my family and school and, you know, you.”

Niall thinks about the things they said to each other, the times he’d wanked to the thought of Zayn’s mouth, not knowing it was Zayn’s. “That’s a pretty big detail to leave out though, mate.”

“I know. It’s good you’re here. I couldn’t have kept on, like, lying to you forever. Not when you were honest with me.”

“We talked to your friend Harry,” says Nev. “He said he’s met Veronica. But it doesn’t sound like he has.”

Zayn shakes his head. “He’s met me. We’re friends in real life. And, like, he knows I’ve got that profile as well. Not many people know.”

“So why does Harry know?”

“He comes to Bradford during school holidays, for family. That’s how we met. And he’d go with me to clubs for, like, you know, gay people.” He nearly doesn’t get the words out, whispering at the end.

“Are you gay then?” Niall asks. He doesn’t want it to come off like an accusation, but he reckons he’s got a right to know. Maybe if Zayn’s been talking about kissing him and sucking his cock for almost a year, the answer should be obvious.

“Yeah,” says Zayn. “Not out. Not really. But Harry knows. That’s why I told him about Veronica. And you. I wanted to tell someone. I was, like, really, really happy.”

Niall nods. “Me too.” He feels hemmed in by the cameras, doesn’t know what to say that he’d want all of America to hear. “Could we maybe have a bit of time? Just to ourselves?”

Nev and Max look at each other and nod. The cameras go off, and Niall stares awkwardly at his hands. In some ways, Zayn’s one of his best friends in the world, and in others, they hardly know each other.

“I could show you my room,” says Zayn softly. “If you like.”

It turns out Zayn’s walls are covered in Veronica’s drawings, only of course they were never Veronica’s at all. There are fliers from gigs as well, and posters for Bollywood films. “Nice,” says Niall approvingly, and Zayn smiles. It’s strange to recognise that smile.

“Thanks, mate.” Zayn’s stood uneasily by the door, like he’s not sure if he should shut it. Niall goes ahead and plops himself down on the bed.

“I’m not gay,” says Niall, and Zayn pushes the door shut.

“Reckon I knew that. You were getting pretty graphic with a girl online.” He sits down in the rolling desk chair, spins it to face Niall.

“Wasn’t that fucking weird for you then? When I was talking about sucking on your tits that you don’t even have?”

“Don’t know if you honestly want me to answer that.”

“Go on then.”

“Wasn’t nothing you said that I didn’t want. It was easy to go along when you were just piquing my interest more and more.”

Niall nods thoughtfully. He’s not the type to panic over a boy liking or wanting him. “Have to say I don’t really know how this is going to work out,” he admits.

“Reckon it won’t,” says Zayn with a wry smile. “I was sort of hoping, like, maybe we could still be friends though.”

“I liked V a lot, Zayn. A whole fucking lot. And if 95 per cent of that is you, I reckon we can start up our Draw Something game again, at least. I’ve still got loads of untapped artistic talent.”

Zayn’s smile blooms out big and bright, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s all I could ask for. I lied about one really big thing, yeah? But fuck, Niall, I didn’t lie any more than that. I didn’t want to lie to you. But I, like, couldn’t stop. Once I had started, I couldn’t tell you. And I was into the other stuff as well, the not just friends stuff.” He looks even more solemn and dejected than before. “I’m sorry, but I was.”

“Don’t be sorry, mate.” He looks at Zayn’s mouth, the same mouth he’s been thinking about for months, and he thinks he might have to reassess some things about his life. Or else he’s just a bit overemotional from having learnt that his online girlfriend is a boy with the longest eyelashes he’s ever seen. “It’s different for you to how it is for me. That’s all right, as long as you can keep your hands to yourself.”

“Reckon I can,” says Zayn. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Or a perfect lady, if you like.”

“You don’t wear all that Veronica stuff, do you? Like, in your life, you don’t just put it on sometimes for a laugh and pretend to be a girl for the day.”

Zayn shakes his head. “Nah, mate. I can’t pretend to be a girl once you get me up and about. I haven’t got the, what do you call it, poise for it. Never would’ve held up for a video chat either.”

Something occurs to Niall. “Can we video chat now? If you’re just being you and not V, can we talk more and everything?”

“Still, y’know, haven’t got a webcam, but I reckon I could borrow Doniya’s sometimes, or ask the TV blokes if they can hook me up. If you wanted to, like, see my face.”

“I’ll be honest. It’s a bloody good face.”

Zayn’s quiet for a second too long before he says, “Cheers.”

“We should go back down, shouldn’t we?” says Niall. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful after everything they’ve done bringing me here. But I didn’t really expect things to go like this.”

“I’m sorry,” says Zayn, and he reaches out a hand to pat Niall’s back. Niall realizes it’s the first time they’ve actually touched. He leans into it a bit and wonders how it would be if they’d just been mates online and not this awkwardly involved mess. He reckons everything would’ve been a good deal less difficult.

 

They’ve booked him on a flight home two days later, and Niall wonders what was supposed to happen in those two days because now it’s turned into hanging round at Zayn’s playing Call of Duty and being utterly boring. Maybe they expected drama and fallout, but there’s barely any, except for the odd feeling in Niall’s stomach when Zayn catches his eye sometimes. By the middle of their second day in Bradford, the cameras are gone. Nev and Max will be back, but for now it’s just the two of them, with Zayn’s sisters popping in and out sometimes. It’s more family time than Niall’s had with most of the actual girls he’s dated. It’s so easy to be around them though, and Niall likes to think they like him, even if they don’t seem quite sure why he’s there.

“Are you afraid they’ll see the show and come round asking awkward questions?” says Niall, sprawled on one end of the sofa with Zayn at the other.

“Only airs in America, doesn’t it?” replies Zayn, but it’s obviously not the whole answer. “Reckon if my mum and dad see it, I wouldn’t have to come out anymore. That’s probably good over all, isn’t it? Like, being honest?”

“Don’t think anyone expects you to be honest via MTV though, do they?”

“We live in an electronic age,” says Zayn. He brushes it off so lightly, and Niall doesn’t know what to say, feels ill equipped because he’s never had the kind of sexuality he had to make an announcement about.

“When did you know?” asks Niall, and Zayn goes ahead and pauses the game, looks at him from the other end of the sofa.

“About being gay? Dunno, mate. Puberty, I reckon. When you start, like, having uncontrollable hard-ons all over the place. Only I didn’t, like, stop that. When I looked at other boys at school or whatever, I still got hard. And there’s a point where you just have to admit it’s not a phase. That it’s really your life.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?” says Niall.

Zayn lifts his eyebrows. “Just the one on the internet.”

“So your mate Harry that you go to clubs with? He’s just a mate?”

“Can’t say we haven’t snogged on the dancefloor a few times, but yeah, he’s definitely just a mate. He gets what I’m like.”

Niall nods. He thinks it must be lonely, hiding something so basic about yourself from almost everyone you know. Especially if your only other gay friend lives in another town and only comes round a few times a year. “Did you ever, like, give it a go with a girl?” he asks.

Zayn shakes his head. “Would’ve been too weird. Like I was taking advantage or something. Trying to figure myself with a girl who was, like, there in good faith. Reckon I wasn’t as ethical on Facebook.”

“All right now though,” says Niall. “Water under the bridge. We’ll be mates.”

 

Before Niall leaves Bradford, Nev and Max sit him and Zayn down and ask if they’re going to keep in touch. Both of them start nodding before Nev’s even finished the question. “Zayn’s a good lad, and he’s been a good mate, and I can’t really fault him for not being a fit girl as well, in the end.”

“I’m just glad he’s still speaking to me,” says Zayn with a grin.

They hug at the door, and Niall says he’ll skype later, try out the new webcam Zayn’s got off MTV for his trouble.

 

It’s just friendly like that for a couple of weeks, Niall chatting to Zayn on skype, continuing their Draw Something games, although it’s odd now to see Veronica’s name on all of Zayn’s turns. Niall gets used to seeing Zayn’s face when he calls, gets used to Zayn’s smile and Zayn’s laugh and the way that things are between them now.

Sometimes, though, when Niall looks at Zayn, he doesn’t feel the easy friendship stuff. When Zayn looks at him through the webcam for just a moment too long, and Niall finds himself wondering what if. What if Zayn were his boyfriend like V had been his girlfriend? He wonders what kissing Zayn would be like, how it would feel to hold Zayn in his arms and snog him properly. He doesn’t go back to dating anyone else, doesn’t hook up when he goes out with his mates, doesn’t even want to. He gets home late at night and calls Zayn instead, tells him stories about Darragh showing off down the pub, makes him laugh.

“Love watching you laugh,” Niall says one night when he’s drunk, curled around his laptop in bed, Zayn looking warm and tousled and far away.

Zayn’s smile goes small and fond. “You’re pissed, mate.”

“Stay on the line then. I’ll say it sober as well.”

“How long do you reckon it’ll take you to sober up?”

Niall rolls his head against the pillow. “Six hours.”  
“I’ll need to sleep before then,” says Zayn, yawning into the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Then sleep with me,” Niall replies. He doesn’t mean anything by it, only it sounds nice, cuddling up with Zayn in bed.

“Not sure that’s a good idea, mate,” Zayn says gently. “How about for you we, like, just go to sleep on our own, and not get into any of that?”

Niall isn’t tracking all that well, which is maybe a good thing since it gives him less to be embarrassed about later. And he would have been pretty damn embarrassed if he were thinking. He must doze off mid-skype because he wakes up a few hours later, disoriented, to an IM from Zayn that says, “Night, mate :)x”. He turns off the light and puts his laptop away, feeling the start of a hangover behind his eyes.

 

“How did you come up with all that stuff you sent me when you were being Veronica?” Niall asks. They’re eating ice cream together over skype, and Niall thinks he started it, but he’s been staring at Zayn’s mouth in a not-matey way for so long that he’s not sure.

“Which stuff?” Zayn asks, licking ice cream off his thumb. “Like my genius art? That’s pretty much how the game works, mate. Not a lot to come up with.”

“Not that,” says Niall. “The sex stuff. All that time I thought it was just, like, because you were a girl and you were thinking about stuff you liked. But you were making it up. How?”

Zayn puts down the ice cream carton and frowns into the camera. “Dunno if I want to talk about that,” he says.

“No worries. How’s your ice cream?”

“It’s good. Melting a bit though, now. And my mum’s gonna be pissed off I was eating straight from the carton.”

“Rebel,” says Niall.

“You know it.” He gives a last long lick to his spoon and puts the lid back on the carton. “Reckon I’ve had enough. I’m gonna pop this back in the freezer.”

He disappears, and Niall’s left staring at his bedroom wall, feeling weirdly off-kilter. It’s still hitting him in waves, the way looking at Zayn is different from looking at his mates at home, the way Zayn still takes up that “girlfriend” space in Niall’s life. Niall polishes off his own ice cream while Zayn’s in the kitchen, sucks at the sticky spoon after.

He’s still got it in his mouth when Zayn picks up the laptop and retreats to bed, curling up with his back against the wall, so his face is that much closer to Niall’s suddenly. “When I think about sex stuff,” says Zayn, softly and unexpected, “it’s not always like, what I want someone else to do to me.”

“Of course,” agrees Niall quickly. He wants Zayn to keep talking, tries not to spook him.

“Sometimes I think, like, what I’d want to do with someone, for someone. And that’s hot too. Like, making it good for someone else. I would like that. So that’s the stuff I was thinking, when I wrote to you.”

“And it was hot for you? Thinking about that?”

Zayn looks narrowly at him. “Of course.”

Niall smiles, a little, knows they’ll have to stop talking about this in a second, knows it’s not right to try and sort through his feelings by asking Zayn questions. “It was for me too,” he says.

“Good,” says Zayn with a small smile of his own. “I think.” He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s getting late, mate. Reckon I should go.”

“Yeah, all right. Speak tomorrow?”

Zayn grins. “Definitely.” He logs off, and Niall fucks around online until he’s too tired to be tempted to touch himself and think of Zayn before bed.

 

Niall’s follow-up call with Nev and Max is six weeks after his trip to Bradford, and Niall’s in high spirits. “You look happy!” says Nev. “What’s new since the last time we talked?”

“Done with my leaving cert,” Niall says. “That’s our big finishing exam. So I’m free for the summer. And then university in the fall if I do all right.”

“Awesome, man,” says Nev. “When do you hear?”

“Won’t get the results back until August.”

“But you’ve got your schools picked out and stuff?”

“Ages ago, yeah.” He doesn’t mention that he’d applied for a couple of places in England before he knew his girlfriend wasn’t really his girlfriend. He’s not sure what he’ll do now if he gets them. The thought of being closer to Zayn still makes him smile. “I’m trying not to think about it yet, honestly.”

“And how about Zayn? You guys still in touch? You seemed pretty friendly when we left.”

Niall nods, can’t hide his grin. “We’re talking a lot. Reckon things are getting back to normal between us.”

Nev looks incredulous. “Normal was him being your girlfriend though.”

Niall gets a little flustered thinking what to say to that, takes a second too long and watches Nev’s eyebrows jump. “Well, that’s not exactly the same, no,” he says. “But we’re good. We’re tight.”

“Right,” says Nev slowly. “Well, we’re going to be talking to Zayn too. Hopefully he’s feeling as good about it as you are.”

“I’d hope so, yeah,” says Niall. He thinks about how this is going to sound on TV, but he can’t stop smiling when he thinks about Zayn. So maybe that’s not so far off base.”

 

"I've thought about it," says Niall to Zayn the next time they talk.

"Thought about what?" asks Zayn. He's drawing something he won't let Niall see yet, hunched over his sketchbook, and Niall's supposed to be revising, but he isn't, really; he's staring at the furrow between Zayn's eyebrows and wanting to kiss him.

"Like, what it would be like to still be your boyfriend."

That makes Zayn look up. "That wig was itchy as fuck, mate," he says. "Don't reckon I'd want to wear it every day." They've been talking every day. That's the thing. The days they skype outnumber the days they don't 3 to 1. It's more than Niall talks to his mates in real life.

"I don't mean Veronica though. I mean you. No wig, no makeup. Just you."

Zayn is incredulous. "One big problem with that."

"Doubt it's all that big, honestly."

"Not the right foot to start off if you want me to date you. Which you don't, I know that."

“How do you know?” says Niall.

“Because you’re straight, mate. It’s fine that you’d think about it, don’t see how you wouldn’t. But it’s all right that you’re straight. I’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with it, and it’s fine.”

And Niall can sort of see the logic of how that works in Zayn’s head, the way it looks to him on the outside. He can’t really expect anything to change at this point, and in some other world it’s probably better if he doesn’t. “I might not be,” says Niall.

“Don’t,” says Zayn sharply. He’s never really snapped, not in the time Niall’s known him, even keeled and quiet and sweet, but he sounds genuinely angry now.

“Don’t what?”

“Whatever kind of joke you’re playing, it’s not funny. It’s not going to be funny.”

“It’s not a joke,” says Niall. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?”

“Just not being all straight. It wouldn’t be a one hundred percent change. I know I still like girls. Loads. But I also.” He stalls, hates the idea that Zayn might be angry with him for this, for feeling something he didn’t expect at all.

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” Zayn says softly, looking away, “please.”

“I like you so much,” says Niall. “I like you better than anyone. I don’t want to go out or get off with girls when I know I could be at home staring at your fucking face on the computer. You’re more fun than everything else, and I’ve been thinking about it. Genuinely. No joke.” He waits through the longest silence in the world. “Zayn, please, look at me. I need to know if this is okay, if you need me to just fuck off for a bit.”

“Don’t fuck off,” says Zayn. “Like, maybe we could not talk about it right now? I need to think. Wrap my head around it and everything. It’s just, that’s a lot, Niall.” He looks sad, a bit, and Niall doesn’t get it. His heart was in his throat just saying the words, and now Zayn wants him to wait again.

“All right, mate,” says Niall softly. “Just say when you’ve thought it out. I’ll be there.”

“Know you will,” says Zayn. “You fucking better.”

“Should I go?” asks Niall. “I can, if you like. Now I’ve made everything fucking awkward.”

Zayn hesitates, bites his lip. “Maybe just, like, give me some time, mate, all right? I need to think some. But I’ll skype you.”

“Promise?”

Zayn puts his hand up to the screen and sticks out his little finger. “Pinky promise.”

 

Zayn is off skype for a week, totally absent, and Niall misses him sharply. He looks at the empty little icon that says Zayn’s not there every time he gets on his laptop, and their Draw Something game sits stagnant on Zayn’s go. 

Niall goes down the pub with Sean, Darragh, and Dylan, same as usual for a Saturday night, but he’s distracted and sad and keeps laughing a moment too late. Sean elbows him as he comes back from the bar with a round. “Where’s your head at, Horan?”

Niall shakes his head. “Dunno,” he says. He’d told them about Zayn when he got back from Bradford, and they’d taken the piss for a while about him accidentally dating a dude, but that had tapered off when they realised Niall didn’t care. That doesn’t mean it’s easy to admit what’s bothering him now.

“Girl trouble?” asks Sean. “Seems like you’ve gone home alone a lot lately.”

“Another facebook girlfriend, maybe?” says Darragh. “Am I going to have to call in Catfish again?”

“Nah,” Niall says finally. “Reckon I’m still hung up on the last one.”

“Just to be clear,” says Dylan, “the last one turned out to be a guy.”

“Yeah,” says Niall, heart beating too hard in his chest. “Yeah, he did. But I’m not sure I mind that.”

Sean’s eyebrows furrow. “So your girl trouble is about a boy?”

This is what Zayn must think about every day of his life, this conversation, these questions, this coming out thing that will have to happen over and over. He looks at his friends one by one, makes them meet his eyes before he replies, “Yep, my girl trouble is about a boy.”

“Did anyone know about this?” says Sean, looking round the table. “Because I’m a bit caught off guard here.”

“I sure as fuck didn’t,” replies Darragh. “Did you think you couldn’t tell us? After you got back from Bradford, you didn’t say a fucking word.”

“It wasn’t happening then,” says Niall. “I didn’t think I was so into him, but turns out I was. I didn’t know. I’m shit at this.”

“And now the fucker’s breaking your heart,” sighs Dylan. “Boys are just as mad as girls then.”

“He’s not,” Niall protests. “He hasn’t yet.”

“This is weird, isn’t it?” says Sean. “Have we all just taken it in stride that Horan likes dick and now we’re playing agony uncle?”

“We’re being good mates, dumbshit,” says Darragh. “If Niall wants to go for a bloke who lied to him for a year online, we’ll support his life choice.”

Niall grimaces. “He thought he had to lie though. I’m not angry about that.”

“What are you angry about then?” asks Sean.

“I told him I liked him, and now he’s stopped talking to me.”

“Then what in the bloody hell was he bothering to pretend to be a girl for if he didn’t like you?” says Sean. “I swear to Christ I don’t understand gay blokes.”

“He thinks I’m straight and just taking the piss out of him.”

“Well, to be fair,” says Sean, and Darragh elbows him in the ribs.

“I’m not taking the piss though,” says Niall. “I genuinely like him.”

“Give him a bit of space then,” suggests Dylan. “If he comes back he’s yours or whatever.”

“That is actually the twattiest advice anyone’s ever given,” says Darragh, clattering down his empty pint on the table. “Next round’s on you.”

“It isn’t! You can’t go round giving forfeits for bad advice. We’d all be fucked.”

Niall laughs at that, loudly and genuinely, shocked into gratitude for his mates. They’ve been utterly useless, but that’s all right. They’ve also proved that it’ll take more than Niall liking dick to scare them off, and that’s what he needed most.

 

Zayn’s reappearance is sudden a few days later. Niall never bothers turning off his skype, but he almost doesn’t believe the little floating notification that says “Zayn Malik is online” or the _hey_ chat that follows.

_Hey mate_ , Niall types back. _Alright?_

_can i call?_

_Yea_. He waits with his heart in his throat then, but Zayn looks the same as ever, smiling a little nervously at him.

“Hey,” says Zayn, out loud this time.

“Hey,” says Niall.

“Sorry I had to, like, go away for a bit.”

“Don’t be,” Niall tells him. “You came back.”

“Yeah. I did. Reckon I’ve got my head on a bit straighter now.” Niall waits, knows that won’t be it. Zayn sighs. “Do you still want to make a go of it, with me? Proper boyfriend stuff? I wouldn’t blame you if you’d changed your mind, honestly.”

“I haven’t,” says Niall. “I won’t.”

“Then I reckon we could try it, see if it works.”

“Went all right for me and Veronica.”

Zayn gives him a tentative little smile, and Niall wants to kiss him so much it aches in his chest.

 

It doesn’t change everything, the agreement they have now that they’ve decided to put a name to their relationship. But the things it does change are obvious. A couple weeks later, during their nightly skype call, Niall feels free to say, “Fuck but I want to kiss you right now,” even though Zayn goes flustered and shy over it.

“Where?” Zayn manages to ask.

“Anywhere,” replies Niall, still staring at his face. “Mostly your mouth. I want to storm right up to your door and just kiss you breathless.” He doesn’t even know what to do with the feeling that fills him up when Zayn smiles.

“Better you didn’t actually do that just now, not at the door. Neighbours wouldn’t like it.”

“Fuck ‘em,” says Niall. 

“Rather save the fucking for you.” He goes shy again, like that might be a step too far, like there are still places he might go that Niall won’t follow.

“Tell me about that then.”

Zayn swallows, and Niall watches it, the slow bob of his throat. “How much do you want me to tell you?” Zayn says. “I’ve had, like, quite graphic thoughts.”

“Veronica never had a hard time telling me those.”

“Veronica wasn’t real.”

“I want you to tell me everything.” He cups a hand over his dick, down where Zayn can’t see, rubs at himself through his track bottoms.

Zayn shuts his eyes and licks his lips. “I want to suck your cock. I want to feel you in my mouth. I think about it, god, I think about it every day. I’d get you so wet, make you come so hard.”

It’s the sort of thing Veronica wrote to him, but that’s a world of difference from hearing it in Zayn’s soft voice, watching him while he says it. “You would. Your mouth would be so good. Reckon I wouldn’t last long, with you doing me like that. And then I’d give it a go as well. I’d like to do that.”

“Would you?”

“Yeah. Wanna make it good for you. You’d have to show me the ropes, I reckon. As I haven’t done it before.”

“Me too though,” says Zayn quickly. “I’ve never done it either. We might need to practice. I’d do that happily though. Niall, fuck, I might come just from sucking you.”

Niall grips his dick harder through his trackies. “Jesus Christ, Zayn,” he whispers hoarsely. He imagines Zayn’s slim hips moving against his bed while he sucks Niall’s cock, imagines holding him down while he returns the favor.

“Are we doing this for real then?” asks Zayn.

“If you were here, you bet your fucking arse we would be.”

“No,” says Zayn. “I mean, are you gonna touch yourself while I talk about blowing you? Are we doing this right now to get off? Because I could, if I’m honest. I’m fucking aching, babe.” He licks his lips and Niall stares at the sweep of his tongue.

“Yeah,” says Niall, digging his hand in under his waistband and gripping his cock properly. “Yeah, let’s do that for real.”

Zayn’s laptop rocks as Zayn shifts on his bed, Niall’s view of him tilting as he resettles. “Can I,” Zayn starts, and then pauses like he’s lost his nerve, “can I see you maybe?”

Niall flushes as he gets it, his dick jumping a little. “Haven’t done that before. Reckon we shouldn’t save the first look for the wedding night?”

Zayn huffs and grins crookedly. “I’m an educated consumer, mate. Not gonna buy it sight unseen.”

“Good lad.” Niall holds his laptop one handed as he drags his trackies down his thighs, guiding the waistband over the swell of his cock, which juts up over his belly as soon as it’s free. He shields it with his hand as he sets the laptop on his knees. “If it looks small, that’s just the angle, alright? It’s actually massive.”

“Easier to get my mouth round if it’s not.” Zayn’s peering at him, trying to get a look with the new angle. “Let me see.”

“Get yours out too then. It’s only fair.” Some part of Niall’s brain is still adjusting to this, the sharp desire to see another boy’s dick hard for him, but mostly he’s just breathlessly turned on as Zayn undoes his flies one handed, lifting his hips to pull his jeans and pants down. He’s circumcised, and the slide of his fist along the length of his cock is fascinating, the bare pink head peeking out from the circle of his fingers. Niall instinctively matches his grip to Zayn’s, and they breathe at each other for a moment, quiet and intense.

“Fuck,” says Zayn softly. “I want to get my hands on you.”

“And my mouth,” replies Niall. It’s true, shockingly true how much Niall wants to taste him, slide his tongue over the heat of Zayn’s skin.

“Yeah,” agrees Zayn. “That too.” Niall gives himself a couple of sloppy strokes under Zayn’s watchful eye, precome pooling and spilling over at the head of his dick. “Do you always get so wet?” Zayn asks. It’s not a question anyone’s asked him before, and Niall has to give it some thought.

“I’m awfully worked up right now, mate. And I have been for a while. When I’m just doin’ myself, it’s usually not so much, I reckon.” He spreads the welling fluid down the length of his dick, his fingers going sticky with it after a moment.

Zayn licks his palm and starts to wank, keeping it slow and even. He’s so hard, Niall can tell from the flush of his skin, the way he struggles not to thrust. “Come on, babe,” Zayn says softly. “Put on a show for me.”

Niall takes a deep breath and tries his best, falling into rhythm with Zayn, feeling their hands match up from hundreds of miles away. He nearly comes the first time Zayn moans, this soft plaintive sound that goes straight to Niall’s balls, leaves him tingling all over. His own noises are little grunts and pants, and he has trouble not closing his eyes, but he doesn’t want to miss a fucking moment of what’s happening on his laptop screen.

They’re not even trying to talk anymore, and when Zayn comes first, it’s the hottest thing Niall’s ever seen, the long spurts across his belly spattering his t-shirt, the sudden jump of his hips. Niall gapes and goes still for a moment, and Zayn keeps stroking, milking every last dribble out of himself before turning bleary eyes back to Niall. “Your turn,” he says hoarsely, and Niall rocks up into his hand a bit and loses it to the sound of Zayn’s, “yeah, just like that.” He nearly tips the laptop off his knees riding out the wave of his orgasm, and he grabs for it with his clean hand, finds Zayn grinning at him on the screen.

He grins back. “That went all right, eh?” says Niall.

“Perfect,” replies Zayn fondly. He rolls onto his side, curling around his laptop so all Niall can see is his face smushed into a pillow.

Niall shakes his head, wishing he could reach through the screen and kiss him. “Not perfect though. Won’t be perfect unless you’re here.”

 

[Six months later]

 

Zayn's flat is just one not-quite-square room with a kitchen alcove in one corner and a bathroom carved into another. The windows are tall and oddly narrow, and Zayn says they must have ordered glass that shape specially because no normal home had arrow slits for windows. Niall's seen all this via a webcam tour--whatever Zayn's flat lacks, the internet is fast--but it's different to being here, in this space that is only Zayn's.

Zayn hugged him and squeezed his hand hard in the airport, but they haven't really touched since, elbows jostling on the bus, the spaces between them electric. It's been like fucking months of foreplay, and as Zayn shuts the door behind them, it's finally, finally over, and Niall doesn't even know where to start. He puts a hand on Zayn's waist, and Zayn pulls him in tight.

They kiss hesitantly at first, and then with more and more certainty, their bodies angling helplessly towards each other, Niall’s arms linked around Zayn’s slim waist. Zayn’s mouth is unbelievably soft, tastes a little of cigarette smoke, and he kisses slowly, almost lazily, although both of them have been waiting so long. Niall’s not used to the scrape of stubble, but everything else about the kiss is something he knows, something he can slip into without thinking. Zayn’s hands settle on Niall’s hips, fingers hooking into his beltloops.

Up close, Zayn’s eyelashes are miles long. He pulls back and rubs the tip of his nose against Niall’s. “Do you want tea or anything?” asks Zayn. “You’ve been traveling all day.”

“Might like a wee before we get too involved.”

“Way less kinky than after, I reckon.” Zayn lets him go and steps back, and Niall has a moment alone in the toilet to really take in that he’s here, that Zayn wants him and he wants Zayn and they don’t even have to talk about it. They’ve had months to do nothing but talk, and that’s long enough, surely it is. But when Niall steps back out into the main room, the sight of Zayn sprawled naked on his bed, one hand wrapped around his flushed cock, is still startling. Niall doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now, and he takes two stumbling steps toward the bed and stops.

Zayn pulls up a corner of the duvet to cover himself. “Is this all right?” he asks. “Is it too weird?”

Niall shakes his head, takes three more steps to the edge of the bed, and reaches for the button on his jeans. He shoves down his pants with them and kicks off his trainers and socks. He hesitates again, faced with Zayn’s whole naked body.

“I’ve got the Veronica wig,” Zayn says softly. “Mascara. Bit of lipgloss. If you’d be less freaked about a girl. I can be a good girl.” It’s partly a joke, and partly so very serious, Zayn’s mouth twitching into an anaemic smile. Like he’s been afraid Niall would run from this, ultimately.

“I don’t want a girl,” Niall tells him. “I don’t want Veronica. I want you, just how you are right now. But you’ve got to tell me what you like, because l don’t know much about what I’m doing.”

Zayn sits up and holds out a hand. “I can show you what I know. But it isn’t a lot, like, by most people’s standards.”

They’ve talked about it a bit, the fact that Zayn hasn’t done much beyond rushed handjobs in club toilets, and he hardly thinks that’s sex, although Niall’s pointed out that it’s infinitely more touching other dudes’ dicks than he’s done. Niall takes his hand, lets Zayn tug him forward into a kiss. 

Zayn’s pressed right up against him, smooth, taut skin warm beneath his hand as he slides it down to grip Zayn’s bare hip. The duvet slides away while they’re kissing, and Niall’s hard, and Zayn’s hard too, and that’s something Niall knows from right up close. He slides his thumb along the sharp angle of Zayn’s pelvis and groans, grinding down.

“I could come like this,” Zayn whispers. He slides one of his thighs up between Niall’s, bracing his foot against the bed as he thrusts upward.

“Good,” Niall moans in response, finds Zayn’s mouth to kiss him again. He can feel the heft of Zayn’s dick against his belly, trailing precome, everything between them getting hotter and wetter. He’s waited so bloody long for this. “You feel so…” he murmurs against Zayn’s parted lips.

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. He gets a firm grip on Niall’s arse the next time he thrusts up, guiding Niall into him, finding a rhythm in the chaos. They stop talking, sealed together at the mouth, Niall shuddering and too close, his hips moving in weird little jerks as he tries to hold out, make it last just a few moments longer. But Zayn’s more patient than he is, lets Niall spill all over his heaving belly before he bucks upward into it and comes with a low, panting moan. Niall wants to catch his breath, but he can’t seem to drag his mouth away from Zayn’s.

“Fuck,” says Niall, breaking away to slide his lips along the line of Zayn’s jaw. “Fuck but that was good.”

“Yeah,” says Zayn. He looks sleepy and flushed, and Niall buries his grin in the side of Zayn’s neck.

“Worth the wait, yeah?” Niall says.

“Every fucking second.” He strokes a hand down Niall’s back, and Niall thinks maybe he should move, but Zayn doesn’t seem to mind being all crushed together and sticky. “I’m glad you’re here, babe.”

Niall is happy right down to his core just then, wrapped up in Zayn’s arms with the sun streaking in through the windows. They lie there in the sticky mess of their own come for ages longer than Niall would usually allow, kissing lazily, hands finding all the places they’ll want to touch for the next round. Eventually Zayn rolls out of bed for a wet flannel, and Niall watches him navigate naked across the flat, skinny thighs and no arse to speak of, and it’s maybe the best thing Niall’s ever seen. When Zayn comes back, he dumps the dripping flannel onto Niall’s belly and slots himself into place beside Niall again.

“Reckon I might be able to get it up again in a few,” Niall points out. “If you fancied another go.”

Zayn grins. “It’s so fucking good to have you here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr [here](http://realmenwearpuppypants.tumblr.com/). :)


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